LifeCycle
by Mister Vix
Summary: The lifecycle of the dead can be summed up in a single word. Can you guess which?


**Life-Cycle

* * *

**

Author's Notes:  
My brain was elsewhere and I'd been reading PSoH theories about D and his family for a few hours straight. This is the result. Forgiveness, forgiveness! I have no idea what's going on here! The jarred format is deliberate. ::Wanders away, shotgun in hand.::

* * *

It starts with  
**_pain_**.

_Who is to say what is and is not natural? It would be dismissed as unnatural in most cases. But when it is nature's final grasp at life, a last-ditch effort to save the species, is it still "unnatural"? Perhaps._

But you grow past the  
_**pain  
**_and life can get better. Somewhat. Not a great amount, never, because you've got a purpose. A very rigid one, defined. But you're still a child.

_I did what I had to. It was all for the purpose of ensuring the next generation, tainted as the blood might become for it; I was punished. Punished for it. I had done no wrong. None. Never._

You will grow, and you will learn. You will learn why it hurts so badly, why you will always feel constant, unending  
_**pain  
**_that eats away at your soul. You will learn why you may only cry when you see man's triumphs, and why only one grief will truly mean anything to you.

_He would be the one who would finish the job, wouldn't he? If I failed. I would not fail, but I had to make sure. He would be perfect. I would make him perfect. I could not chance that he would be anything less. I was punished. I had done no wrong, but I was punished nonetheless._

You see, darling child, your kind is a dead kind. You are a ghost. A phantom, born for revenge. And revenge you will have, vengeance for the sins committed by man. They will taste the  
_**pain  
**_that you have come to adore. Your lifeblood was spilled long ago, but the flavor of it still wets your lips, stains them bright red. The only way you can drown out the sickly taste of death is with sugar, a mild comfort to soothe the hurt.

_Impossible! Impossible that such an injustice would be done against me! And by my own, no less! I thought, of all people, he would understand...but no. Stolen from me, and I was punished. Scorned. No hurt was worse than knowing that my own child would see me forever as the next best thing to a monster. A madman. If I was mad, then so were they all!_

Wear your mask well, young one. Your purpose is clear. Slay them, darling child, let them know of their folly in causing you such terrible, terrible  
**_pain_**.  
Teach them the meaning of regret, teach them that no penance will ever be sufficient. Kill them all, and avenge the wounds that still burn bright-hot within your body, covered by the thinly stretched skin of generations.

_So my child was taken from me. Taken by my own, by the one whose blood had birthed me. I dared call him "father" only with as much spite and hate as I could pour into the word. He stole my creation, the perfection I had worked so hard to create, and ruined the boy. I would never have allowed something so soft, so...whimsical. Never. Never spawned from my own blood, never. My perfect, flawless creation was taken and twisted. By my own. My own. My child was taught to hate me. Bitter._

A human should not be able to see through the mask. A human should never know that you are scarred, that you are out only for blood. But maybe, maybe this human can see the  
_**pain  
**_and maybe he's different. That makes him dangerous. Watch him carefully, darling child. Don't slip into that hopeful mistake that maybe, maybe you could be understood. No. No one has ever felt what you feel every second of every day. No one has ever been a dead thing dragged to the surface, destined to fall once more and pull all else with you.

_It was all the fault of the blood that birthed me. My contemptible father who ruined my perfect child. His pathetic attempts to keep the human at bay only spurred the man further, and I could barely stomach the sight as mine, my child, the creature which I made to be a flawless vessel of destruction, was pulled into a world he was never meant to see. I had failed utterly, and it was all the fault of that beast which stole my child. I should have killed him long before then, and family be damned. They all are anyway. Damned creatures, Hell's flames running rampant for a brief while. Destructive but useless._

Remember, darling child, in the end you cannot have what you want. You were made for a purpose, and you will complete it. In the end,  
_**pain  
**_wins out over hope, and you will leave. And he will not come with you, for the living cannot join the dead. Cannot taste your blood forced up your throat each night, reminder that you were born only to hurt. Only to inflict that hurt on others. To pass on what you were given. How you were made.

_I was punished for creating perfection.  
__I would never do such a thing again._


End file.
